Vague
by SiriuslovesRemus
Summary: He was fifteen. It was summertime. Late one June afternoon, specifically, when a rare rainstorm swept in from the west to blot the sun from the sky. An exploration of Severus' teen years. Sometimes dangerous, and featuring multiple pairings.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Notes: This is a hard fic. It was difficult to write and may be difficult to read. Warnings for this chapter include graphically described non-consensual incest between two male characters, so proceed with caution. If you find incest fics difficult to read or are wary of slash, be careful with this one. It's not meant to be easy. If you love it, praise it in a review. If you hate it, specify why. If you have suggestions, criticism or advice, please share it. Written for Val, who always has the best recs.

Chapter One

He was fifteen. It was summertime. Late one June afternoon, specifically, when a rare rainstorm swept in from the west to blot the sun from the sky. Clouds, grey-blue and white, billowed like laundry dancing on the line, fast moving, crouching down heavily in the atmosphere and yet, at the same time, appearing to sway.

Severus sat in his bedroom, leaning back against the headboard of the bed, his chin tucked and his eyes downcast. It was an uncomfortable position, and the aching muscles of his back strained for release, but he refused to shift himself, hoping that if he held the posture long enough, he might shrink or even disappear. Heat, oppressive and humid, surrounded him, and the air was close, electrically charged and sagging wetly against his skin. Fat raindrops spilt slantways across the smudged glass of the window, clinging for an instant before sliding ever downward, dripping to the pane, to the gutter, to the grass below, which was yellowed and crisp from drought. Severus watched them, idly twirling his wand between his fingers, feeling the rap of smooth wood against his bony knuckles. He thought of the clothes, Muggle outfits all, that hung rumpled and careworn in the closet; bright-checked shirts, denim jacket, trousers. He had not wanted them, certainly had not chosen them. He craved the glide of wizards robes over his body, the smooth feel of magical clothes and the aura of mystery they enchanted him with. When he was wrapped in them, engulfed in black, he felt different somehow, removed, but his father had forbidden him from wearing any of that attire at home during the summer. The neighbours might see, when, as twilight asserted itself across the sky with a rippled purple flag of clouds and reflections to mark its way, Severus ventured out for a stroll. He was dressed in jeans then, a black tee-shirt housing his spindly rib cage, his feet bare.

"Wizard," muttered Tobias Snape, causing Severus to jump, his gaze turning from the grey window to his father, who leaned against the doorway, sneering. "She went and gave me a wizard son."

Ignoring him, Severus clenched his fist around his wand. He was not supposed to have it out, strictly speaking; Slughorn, in charge of Slytherin, might look the other way for his favourite student, but Minerva McGonagall had given him numerous warnings during that last week of school, when she took aside the Mudblood children, along with half-bloods like Severus, to lecture them on proper wizarding law. Wands were to remain hidden over the summer, and magic to become a lie, drifting only in the hollow heads of those who dwelled in two worlds, residing among their magical counterparts only half of the time. Unlike his peers, who scampered home with movies and football on their minds, Severus dreaded the long stretch of the summer months that required him to abandon everything that felt real and return to a life he hated.

"You heard me," Tobias said, marching into his son's room.

Severus shrugged, a casual gesture that failed to convey the terror that crept just beneath the skin as his father moved closer, closing the door behind him. He hated the man and feared him as strongly as he had once loved and admired him, as a small child, to whom Tobias had loomed a giant. When he was younger, Severus had thought of Tobias highly. He had craved participation in the confusing Muggle rituals his mother had forbade him to attend, and had not understood why she was so defiant on his behalf. To Severus as a young boy, being shepherded about in an automobile or brought to a Muggle store was a grand and much sought after adventure.

Now, however, a moment with Tobias beside him was a moment spent in panic. Gone was the attentive, if somewhat overbearing father, replaced with a fearsome drunk who often turned violent on his wife and son. The only child, Severus caught the brunt of it. He did not play football or rugby, he did not sport and spit or smoke tobacco. He did not gather with friends to drink beers and watch television, and in Tobias' view, he was a failure, a curiosity not to be studied but repaired, who needed the magic and whatever else differentiated him from Tobias' dream to be beaten from him.

Leaning forward, the glint in Tobias' eye was deadly. "What's the matter with you, boy? Afraid to talk to your own father?"

Severus flinched against the glare that met his eyes and drew back, feeling the jut of his spine press against the cool wall. "I don't know what to say," he admitted, hating the way his voice broke as he spoke, a stupid, pubescent tumble of words. "I can't help being a wizard." _Not that I'd want to_, he thought, but wisely did not say. "Mum's a witch," he added, as if that would excuse him. As soon as he spoke, he regretted the words. He always forgot, as autumn and winter and spring danced by in a blur of motion and magic, what it was like to speak to his father. Blaming his mother would not help anything; his parents fought constantly as it was. Even though he had only been home on holiday for two weeks, Severus was already accustomed to finding his mother bleeding and unconscious in the hall after a round of beatings, loathing her even as he pitied her for taking Tobias' abuse without protest or defiance.

As Tobias leaned in closer, Severus could smell the stark, medicinal fragrance of alcohol on his father's breath, coupled with thick smoke that fanned out across the front room in blue clouds, the familiar sweat and salt tang that resided permanently in Tobias' preferred chair. "They don't like you in school, do they? Not with your strange name, those funny looks." Tobias jabbed Severus hard right beneath the collarbone, as if wanting to drive the words home to his heart. "Aye, I heard. Always that long nose stuck in a book, no friends to speak of. I told your mother you'd turn out this way if we let you go to that school, but she wouldn't listen. You should have been drowned like a pup, the runt of the litter. You're not worth nothin'."

The Slytherin common room, with its green hangings and antique silk couches, talking portraits on the wall and always, always, the rustle of whispers echoing irregardless of the time, seemed so far away. Severus glared back at Tobias, pleased he had the nerve to do so, knowing it would only make things worse. He was the whelp his father said, was indeed worthless. Hadn't James Potter and Sirius Black, like twins with their black, gleaming hair and their secret smiles, told him so? He had cursed them back, using those ancient hexes learned from the books his mother stored in the attic still. He had fought, shouted and planned, but as violently as he had meted out retribution for the insults, the Gryffindor foursome had bested him, broken him, until he had known, as much as he hated it, that they were right. He had seen his own failings in the way the other students, even his supposedly loyal house-mates, turned away from him when he was being attacked, abandoning the weakest link in their pureblood chain. He was the sacrifice, the target, the dark-haired scapegoat with brooding eyes and too much knowledge, with arms that hung limply at his sides, unable to fight back.

"Slughorn," Severus attempted, but the name died on his tongue. It was true, he was frequently praised in Potions. Sometimes Slughorn even asked him to stay after, and they sipped cooling tea and chewed crystallised pineapple that dissolved into a sugary smear on his tongue. He often waited while Slughorn brought up research methods and told him stories of great brewers, and for a few moments it felt like respect, but it never lasted. The shades always came down with a wave of Slughorn's wand in the end, and the gleam in his professor's eyes changed, turning darker. Those precious compliments faded from Severus' mind as Slughorn, one pudgy hand resting on Severus' thigh while the other attempted to unbutton his billowing robes, slid closer, panting and muttering in Severus' ear. And then there was pain, and the dig of phials pressing into his skin as he lay, stomach-down, on the long tables where cauldrons normally sat during class, feeling Slughorn burrow into him, and the man's desperate hands grabbing and pulling, too rough for Severus to convince himself it was anything consensual.

Wrapping his thin arms around himself, Severus shivered. The oppressive June heat seemed to have fled, replaced by an arctic chill. He averted his eyes, knowing his father would read the truth about _that_ in his black irises. He did not want to think about Slughorn now, not when he needed all his wits and strength. Thoughts of the professor made him weak-kneed, not in a good way, covered his pale flesh with goose-bumps, made his teeth chatter as if he had been struck by a strong gust of cold wind.

"Silly boy," laughed Tobias, and his tone was halfway affectionate, the anger leaking out as he reduced his only child to a bundle of nerves, shaking and shivering on the faded bedspread. He extended one hand, patting Severus' head twice as if Severus was not a young man but a dog displaying exceptional obedience.

The movement caused Severus to jerk away from his father's touch, but too late; Tobias' quick fingers clenched a handful of Severus' longish hair, clenching the strands in an iron grip. "Well, wizard boy, let's see you work some magic on me," Tobias barked out, pulling Severus forward. With one hand, he kept hold of Severus' hair, and with the other he reached for his belt, slowly unhooking it and pulling the buckle out from the belt loops of his trousers.

"No," Severus breathed, bewildered. Panic engulfed him, and the room felt devoid of fresh air. His head swam, his consciousness challenged by the rapid turn of events. Of all the punishments Tobias had meted out since Severus had begun school, none had involved sexual abuse, and Severus, possibly naively, had never expected them too, despite the vague memories of touches upon his smooth, childish thighs that occasionally haunted his deepest dreams. Twisting in hopes of freeing himself from Tobias' hold, Severus' hands scrabbled across the blankets of his bed, searching for the reassuring feel of his wand, but all he felt was smooth cotton, the sensation of unwashed sheets beneath his legs.

The smirk on Tobias' lips was one of the cruellest expressions Severus had ever seen. His father regarded him with eyes black as night, his lips moist from a lick of his tongue, and held up the wand. Before Severus had time to protest, Tobias changed his grip, pressing down with his fingers, and the wand snapped in two. He threw the jagged spikes of wood onto the floor, where they bounced against the dusty rug and settled, still and powerless, on the ground. Severus watched them fall from the corner of his eye, feeling like it was himself that had been broken under those brusque fingers, reduced to so many splinters. The scrape of Tobias' fingernails against his scalp brought him back, and Severus felt his body tremble and quake as he watched Tobias undo the buttons of his trousers with his thumb.

"Suck it," ordered Tobias, his voice slightly ragged. Already, unexpectedly, he was hard, and his breath emerged in blunt little gasps as he wrenched down his trousers, exposing his genitals and the tops of his thighs.

Severus tried to shake his head, ignoring the pain in his skull as Tobias pulled his hair. He looked at the shabby bureau, on which sat a single Wizarding photograph of the handful of boys he had befriended first year, then towards the handmade curtains with their faded print in blue and green, desperate to look anywhere but at the body before him. Tobias' thighs were thin, like his own, and lacking in youthful muscle Severus possessed. His skin was pale, dotted with coarse black hairs. His penis was swollen and pink, the head flushed dark purple, waiting.

"No," Severus stated, the sound escaping through a jaw clenched with terror and smouldering fury. _I hate you_, Severus thought, unsure of whether his hatred was for his father or himself, but the anger was nothing compared to the fear that raced through his bones. "I will not."

Tobias tightened his grip and shook his fist, forcing Severus to nod unwillingly. "Oh yes you will, boy," he stated, the anger and arousal making him handle Severus rougher than he had planned. "Get to it, or I'll kill you. I swear it." He cupped his hand around Severus' neck and squeezed hard for a moment, pressing Severus' windpipe closed to give him a taste of the consequences. The sight of his son's face, white with fear, sent a shiver of pleasure through Tobias. He watched Severus blink rapidly through a dark fall of hair, watched his mouth open and close like a fish gasping for air, finally releasing his hold on Severus and thrusting forward, so that when Severus's lips parted to indulge in the sudden oxygen, the tip of his cock bounced against his warm, panting mouth.

Severus recoiled so quickly he felt something in his neck snap. Drawing his arms up over his face, he wiped his mouth frantically on one arm, bitter tears forming in his eyes. This was real, this was actually happening, and he knew it. Finality settled in his stomach, leaving his limbs numb and shaky, making him feel incredibly heavy, unable to run.

Tobias thrust his hips again, settling one weighty hand on Severus' shoulder. His fingers bit into the sensitive flesh there, arousing a cramp which Severus barely felt, his mind was so focused on seeing through the whirlwind around him. He felt the bump of Tobias' eager cock against his lips again, and found his lips parting unwillingly as Tobias' other hand encircled his throat and squeezed. Tobias' cock jabbed its way in, seeming to swell against Severus' stunned palate and tongue, poking against the back of his throat.

Wrenching backwards, Severus sought the clean flood of air into his assaulted throat, but Tobias caught him, wrapping his hands around Severus' head and back, dragging him forward until he nearly slid off the bed, refusing to clear Severus' mouth, which he had claimed for his own. He slammed his hips forward again and again, shuddering with the warm, engulfing presence of Severus' untrained mouth. Slick with spit, his organ sought the hotter depths of Severus' throat, and Tobias pressed Severus' face against his groin, bucking into Severus' mouth. That Severus screamed only made it better. His cock muffled the sounds and swelled at the vibrations.

Nose pressed into Tobias' groin, Severus flailed and sobbed, his hands striking ineffectually at Tobias' legs. He was young still, and unlike his schoolboy counterparts sought the dark calm of libraries as a sanctuary over the Quidditch pitch, and so he possessed little physical strength. What strength he did have had fled him, leaving his limbs heavy and motionless, and so he did little more than slap his father, who did not release him. He could smell salt as Tobias' sweat dripped into his face and mixed with the flowing tears there, and a deeper, musky scent of pheromones reached him as well. His mouth burned. His lips felt chapped and bruised, the delicate skin there ripped away by each repeated thrust until it was his blood, mingled with his saliva, that lubricated Tobias' cock. The hinges of his jaw ached, the soreness becoming acute with each stab of Tobias' organ, and there was the burn of cloth rubbing across his scraped knees as he kneeled and was dragged, forward and backward, by the force of Tobias' movements.

Severus tried to think of something, anything, to ease to the feeling of helplessness that suffused through him, but nothing helped, not even the memory of school and the elation of magic, of adding a precise measure and brewing a perfect potion, of casting an immaculate spell. He thought of the fights between his mother and father, the screams and thuds in the hallway, and the way Eileen had looked on those grim occasions when there had been miscarriages. He thought of the bodies, three in all, buried beneath the thin, rocky soil behind the shed; potential siblings who had never quite come to be. No raven-haired sister for him, no buoyant brother with his mouth talking murder, the way Sirius Black had. He thought of Slughorn and their secret afternoons, those nips of wine and the sweetened pineapple, and the way it never felt like rape because Slughorn smiled, Slughorn said he was good; even in those dusky, shadowed rooms when he lay face-down and stripped, Slughorn praised him and whispered his name when he came. He thought how different it was, those nervous jerks of Slughorn so far from the way Tobias, eyes open and filled with contempt that shone through the pleasure, handled him.

"Uh," grunted Tobias. His reaching hands slid down Severus' back, his sharp fingernails scraping the tender skin through the thin tee-shirt, his hips moving in wild, stabbing motions. His thrusts quickened and he moaned, fingers driving bruises into Severus' skin as he cupped the boy's chin and pulled Severus forward, rapidly battering his way deeper and deeper into Severus' startled mouth. He came with a loud, deep moan, flooding Severus' mouth with come that spilled down his torn lips.

The instant he was released, Severus fell forward into the bed, his burning face seeking the shelter of the bedclothes. He coughed and sputtered, spitting out the semen that covered his teeth and tongue, sobbing as he choked on the sticky come. His breath was audible and ragged, each desperate, miserable inhalation burning his lungs. He fought a desperate skirmish for his sanity, swiping his bleeding lips with one arm, staining the sheets with tears, clawing his face in agony.

He did not expect the kick in the ribs, his father's heavy boot driving into his side with explosive force. Severus cried out in pain, hating the helpless warble that emerged from his lips, the gibberish that followed as he tried in vain to articulate his anger. Curling onto his side in a fetal position, pressing his knees to his chest despite the contraction of his lungs in that position, Severus closed his eyes against the darkening evening. He felt Tobias spitting on his face, the saliva splattering on his flushed cheek, before blacking out.


	2. Chapter 2

Severus woke from sleep reluctantly, his face burrowed against the scratchy wool blanket. He was all turned around, and the limbs that had curled around him the previous night were stretched now, his bare feet upon the pillow.

Outside, the sun was shining an annoyingly cheerful yellow. Everything was fresh and new, the way it always is after a heavy summer downpour. The withered grass had been reborn a verdant carpet, cool underfoot, and the sun had coaxed the flowers to unfurl, revealing colourful blossoms to attract the circling bees. The last of the previous night's rainwater dripped slowly through the leaf-clogged gutters, _tap, tap, tap_, and in the distance a dog barked, defending its property from intruding squirrels. Severus opened one eye and uttered a sound that was half a violent sob, half a helpless whimper.

His skin felt stretched, yet at the same time shrunken, dragged across the rigid features of his face hot and close. His cheeks were stained with salt from last night's tears, and his violated mouth tasted of come and his own coppery blood. The pain in his side, which had subsided to a dull ache in sleep, was intense. Severus gritted his teeth and drew his hand up, his fingers gingerly exploring, tracing the smooth curve of the bones until they united with his spine. Nothing felt broken, which came as no surprise; Severus had never broken a bone in his life, despite the abuse his body had tolerated at Tobias' hands.

As yesterday's memories flooded him, Severus found himself sobbing hard, so violently that his body quaked, upsetting his bruised side and sore limbs. It hurt, and worse it added to his complete and utter humiliation, but Severus found he could not stop. He hated the slickness of his mouth, the dabs of crimson streaked across the blanket, and the recollection ineffectual struggle of the previous day, which he failed to win. Tears, hot and somehow sticky, dripped down his face in big, rotund droplets, streaking along the salt trails of their predecessors and wetting the bedclothes. He wept.

He had not done so since childhood, despite the routine battles of the hallways and the names they had for him at school, the worst of all being _Snivellus_, uttered like a dagger from Sirius Black's lips, striking him straight in the heart. He'd admired Black, admired Potter too, on that first anxious train ride to school. They had loomed so large, two beautiful purebloods like the kind his mother had sometimes spoken of, the recollection creasing her lips into a smile. They wore crisp, new robes, not faded hand-me-downs like the ones Severus had, his dead uncle's ill-fitting cloak wrapped around his shoulders, but Severus had more admired the way they grinned and laughed, looking like they belonged. With their books and their broomsticks, they had ruled the halls by second year. Even the older girls, the giddy, chubby-cheeked Hufflepuffs and studious Ravenclaws with beautiful figures hiding underneath the drape of robes, had known of Sirius Black and James Potter, the troublesome twosome, those beautiful Gryffindor boys.

They had never given Severus a second glance. When he quoted, from memory, the ancient tomes he had discovered in the attic, they laughed at him, and when he tried, despite his ungainly limbs, to fly, they'd shoved him from his broom into the dirt, amused at his pallor, his awkwardness. Nothing pleased them, and Severus never knew why. They'd taken up with Remus Lupin, after all, who was the quietest boy in school after Severus, his amber eyes always studiously watchful, hands clasped around books. They had chosen Lupin over Severus, embracing Lupin's silent curiosity while rejecting him, who knew more about the Dark arts than any of them ever would.

He had grown to hate them all by third year, when James, in bored moments, tried to cheer Sirius by hexing _him_, making the parchment he had worked on for hours burst into sudden flame, stripping the clothes from his body, giving him fangs, antlers, additional sets of ears, making him levitate and then fall with a comical crash. He had found his own friends: shadow boys like himself, who snarled after hours, in the dark cool of the common room. Among them, Severus described his vengeful fantasies without fear of retribution, letting his hair fall over his face to hide his wary eyes, listening to the hatred that brewed among them like some mysterious potion biding its time, and he had never cried. But now, the wool blanket working up a heat rash on his chin and forehead, Severus cried like he would never stop, hating himself more with every spilt tear, listening to the hitch and catch of his throat, the wet burst of emotion from his lips, until at last he had cried out every remnant of sorrow and rose, somewhat unsteadily, onto his elbows. He slid from the bed, making his slow, painstaking way to the bathroom.

The bathroom tile was cool and clammy, and Severus nearly sank down against it, welcoming the chill against his bruised skin, but he could not bear the slick sweat of his body anymore. Grabbing a cloth from the sink, he climbed into the shower, letting the water beat a steady rhythm against his sore shoulders and back. It dripped, icy, down his back, but although his skin called out for the embrace of heated water, Severus refused to turn the hot tap on. It was punishment, the prickles of cold that beaded down his skin, washing away the dirt of the previous day's encounter. Severus let the water sting him, numb him, as he lathered shampoo into his hair, wincing at the feel of the soap against the places in his scalp where his father's fingernails had gouged him.

For a long time, Severus let the water run. At first he stood, then later he sank down to his scraped knees, kneeling as if at prayer, his hands on the white porcelain beneath him, cold water on his skin, the fresh scent of shampoo in his nostrils. His hair, the same length as Sirius Black's gleaming locks (for hatred did not stop Severus from longing to emulate Sirius in every way) fell over his face, shading him. In his mind's eye, he saw his father stomping up, unhitching his belt, lowering his trousers. The roar of falling water was not enough to blot out the eerie hitch and cough in his throat as the silent war between himself and tears waged. He perched there, on all fours, his head bent so that his nose touched the shower mat, remembering.

"I didn't!"

"You did!" Tobias' voice boomed down the hallway, sliding in through the crack between the door and the floor, meeting Severus' ears. "Don't lie to me -- _slap_ --bitch!"

Severus bit his lip, turning away from the sound of his mother crying. He wanted to have the nerve of a hero, to rush outside and defend her, leap onto Tobias' back and pummel him into unconsciousness, but Severus Snape was no hero, not after what had happened the previous night. He had brushed his teeth four times, spitting green froth into the sink and rinsing with copious amounts of spearmint mouthwash, but his mouth still tasted dirty. He wished no repeat incident.

"You're drunk!" came the retaliatory call.

"Two litres of dandelion wine to each quarter ounce of Hemlock stem," Severus recited to himself softly, his fingers exploring the smooth, aged parchment of the text he was attempting to read. "Two litres wine, quarter ounce of Hemlock stem." For some reason, it seemed of vital importance to remember that. Severus was certain, in that daydreaming, delirious way of someone indulging in magical thinking, that if he could only recite from memory the directions for each precise potion contained in the _Complix Cordevaras_ potions manual, it would all be over. He would return to Hogwarts clean again, without that slimy sensation in his mouth, unafraid. He squeezed his eyes tightly closed, trying to remember the Rosemont formula for a poison nicknamed Serendipity. "Brew at eighteen degrees for two minutes over blue flame, stirring clockwise every four seconds."

"Leave me alone," Eileen shrieked, and there was a frantic scramble right outside Severus' bedroom door. Eileen clutched the door handle, shaking and twirling the knob in a desperate bid for entrance, while Tobias slammed his fists into the small of her back.

Severus kept his eyes closed, remaining motionless in his chair, hands clapped over his ears, which did nothing to drown out the sound. "Second stage," he said out loud, his voice shaky. "Five drops of willow sap, added in a star-shaped pattern: top left, bottom centre, top right, middle left, middle right. Continue brewing over low heat for forty minutes, stirring clockwise once each minute."

"Severus!"

_Go away_, Severus thought, and perhaps whispered. _Go away and never come back, both of you_. Curling his fingers to form a fist, Severus opened his eyes, glaring at the closed door as if glaring at his father. _I hate you._ He clutched the Potions manual to his chest as if hugging a lover, desperate for a return to the world of vanilla and absinthe, of toad's legs and dragon scales, where brews boiled violently over an open flame, and there were no parents shrieking in the hallway.

After a time, the noises died down. Severus heard the heavy fall of Tobias' old work-boots moving away, the slamming of the front door as his father went out into the star-dazzled night. Laying the Potions book aside, he rose timidly from his desk and cautiously opened the bedroom door, not knowing what to expect, only certain it would be bad.

It was. His mother sat on the floor, her knees pulled up against her chest, hands over her face. Her hair was a mess, flyaway strands darting out to all angles. Blood pooled from her nose, streaking down her face.

"Well don't just stand there," she said briskly, clearing her throat and steadying herself as she saw him standing in the doorway, fixing her with a look of apprehension and anger. She dabbed at her eyes with the back of her hand and wiped her nose on her sleeve, childlike. "Help me up."

"Why do you let him?" Severus asked, but there was no passion in his voice. He had asked the question a multitude of times, but never received a coherent answer. _You're a witch_, he sometimes said, energy brightening his black eyes. _You could do something!_ He was nothing if not a conscientious researcher, and he had studied the methods in the Restricted Section of Hogwarts, the various poisons that slowed the heart, undetectable to Muggle science. The Killing Curse, deadly in its efficiency. _You could end this!_ But his mother's response was always the same.

"What are you going on about? He's your father!" Eileen snapped, climbing to her feet and dusting off her skirt, as if she had merely fallen. Reaching up, she caught Severus' face in her hands, tilting his head so she could deliver a kiss to his forehead. "Merlin knows he's got his faults, but he's a good man underneath."

The words stung someplace deep inside, but Severus was in no mood to investigate. He touched the corner of his mouth gingerly and raked back his hair with his fingernails. "Do you want some tea?"

Eileen waved away the offer. "No, no, I think I'll just go to bed for a while. I'm so tired." She stifled a yawn, her face blank but her eyes betraying sympathy, regret. She touched Severus' shoulder, then offered a wan smile. Patting his hand, she looked at him sternly. "Be a good boy, Severus. Don't argue with your father when he gets home."

Wrenching his hand from his mother's grip, Severus took a lurching step backwards. It was his mother, the same familiar form he had known since birth, and yet, at the same time, she was not. He cringed, remember his father's attack. _Hadn't she been at home?_ he tried desperately to remember. _Why didn't she hear?_ There was an apology in the glassy sheen of her eyes, but something else too; her mouth was set, hardened, blame tracing lines around her lips.

"I'll be in my room." It was his protective voice, dead, refusing to betray the slightest feeling. The one he used in unprotected hallways, climbing to his feet after a hex felled him, stubbornly clinging to the shabby remnants of his pride even as he burned inside, drowning in humiliation, in wanting to belong.

His knees were weak when he sank back down to his desk, and his fingers on the manual shook. _She knew_, whispered a traitorous part of his mind, and Severus bared his teeth like a dog holding its ground, shaking his head, disbelieving. He thought of the damage she had withstood, the toll Tobias had taken on her body. His mother, lying white-faced and apologetic in hospital, blooms of purple shading her cheeks. He'd known too, for years and years, and yet he had never stopped it either. Theirs was a shared guilt, and they were both condemned to suffer it in silence.

The smack of leather across the polished floor roused Severus from his thoughts. He turned towards the door, already knowing what he would see.


	3. Chapter 3

Three weeks later, the sound of someone's fists frantically pounding on the manor door roused Lucius Malfoy from his study.

"Severus?" Lucius drew open the front door of the manor and stepped lightly aside, allowing the sobbing, rain-soaked young man entrance. "What's the matter with you?"

Mumbling incoherently, Severus made his way into the front room, and Lucius regarded him with apprehension. Severus' gait, never graceful, was exceptionally clumsy on this night, and twice he tripped, barefoot, over the curled edge of the ancient Persian rug, nearly collapsing into a sodden heap on the floor. He was dressed in Muggle clothing: a pair of battered brown trousers and a black jumper dotted with minuscule moth holes, without shoes or a coat despite the lashing rain outside.

Two house elves entered the front room apprehensively, summoned by the ringing of the door chimes. The stared, wide-eyed, at Severus for a moment before directing their gaze to Lucius, who glared back at them. "Tea," Lucius demanded. He looked at Severus, whose face was a blur of terror, his mouth wide and speechless, his eyes glassy from shock. "And sherry," Lucius added. Severus fell down onto the rug, skinning his elbows, gibberish spouting from his bloodless lips. "Oh hell, bring the whole beverage cart."

It was not that Lucius had never seen someone in such a disorientated state before. He had watched numerous Muggles in the last instant of their lives, their eyes crazed, pleas issuing from their mouths, backs bent as they begged for survival. He had simply never seen someone he knew, a wizard like himself, crawling and babbling, looking as if they had been struck by a particularly virulent Confoundus curse. It unsettled him.

"Get up," he ordered, his voice firm. He had worked hard to cultivate that demanding voice, changing his tone from a petulant whine to a forceful directive, accustomed to telling others what to do. "Sit down on the couch, Severus. You're barely capable of walking." It was his favourite piece, a watery blue silk sofa, but Lucius' Hogwarts education had not been in vain, and he knew enough about cleansing spells to repair any stain that found its way onto his furniture.

Severus found his footing somehow, and hoisted himself onto the sofa. It hurt to sit, but then again it hurt to stand, to walk, to move, to breathe. The backs of his thighs stung where Tobias had scratched him, those sharp fingernails digging into the skin and holding him still during the moment of penetration. Severus did not want to remember, but could not forget, the way Tobias had clawed him frantically during the brief struggle on the carpet. He remembered the cruel plunge of Tobias' cock into his sensitive arse, the involuntary spread of his legs as Tobias kneed him sharply, those rough, heavy hands dragging him apart. Severus gulped, his fingernails digging bloody welts into the palms of his hands as he shook his head, as if the movements could chase the truth away.

"Here, drink this," Lucius ordered, handing him a glass of something warm and amber. Severus tipped the glass to his lips, letting the vile liquid pour down his ravaged throat to burn in his stomach, forgetting those promises he had made to himself that he would never drink, would never emulate his father in that way. He accepted the next one and the one after that as well, downing his second in a gulp and sipping his third, clutching the glass with shaking hands.

"Now, tell me what this is all about," said Lucius, twirling his own glass so that the ice clinked pleasantly. "What brings you to me, and in such a state?"

They were not what anyone would call friends. Lucius had been a seventh year when Severus had arrived at Hogwarts, and he had been far too consumed with his own pride to notice the petite first years that found themselves in Slytherin. He had been everything Severus wasn't; Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team, a member of the duelling club, an expert at Charms, well-liked by most, and best of all, an exhibitor of the pureblood elegance that had been, at the time, talk of the school. Severus had been a little lost boy trailing his heels, aglow in admiration, and if Lucius had paid him any attention, it was only because that obvious respect in Severus' eyes was slightly endearing. He had discovered Severus' Potions talent by accident, and filed it away as useful, but what had solidified the respect Lucius felt for the boy had been his encyclopedic knowledge of the Dark arts.

As a Malfoy, Lucius had been trained from birth in the more subtle Dark spells, the promise of more always on his father's lips, but Severus had known them all already, all those secrets packaged neatly within his lightning-quick mind. Lucius had taken him on a comrade, spending quiet Saturday afternoons with Severus at his knee, lecturing him on this and that, always asking Severus more about the Dark arts. They had spoken during those quiet grey periods between classes and meals, when Hogwarts dissolved and no one had to be anywhere in particular, when the Gryffindors soared overhead spewing Quidditch talk, their bright cloaks flying.

They were not friends, arms linked and merry laughs echoing behind them, but something like it. _Brothers_, Severus sometimes thought when the dormitory was dark and no one could see his hopeful blush. _Lovers_, Lucius imagined in the same still darkness, a naughty grin on his lips. He was in love with Severus, well, not so much with Severus. He was in love with the way the young man looked at him, the shine in his eyes telling, the tentative smile of his mouth. Lucius was infatuated with the way Severus waited, breathless, for him to emerge from class, the way Severus trotted at his heels, ever patient. And now Severus was fifteen, no longer trapped in a child's body but something else, half-man. The darkness in his eyes was real, no longer an illusion, and the bitter words on his lips were no longer feigned but intended. Lucius could almost taste him, could nearly feel himself getting his way.

"He, he --" Severus choked out.

"Who?"

Severus shuddered. "My father. He -- raped me." An explosive sob followed the admission, followed in turn by a desperate gasp.

The glass shattered musically in Lucius' clenched fist, the crystal clear shards of it falling to the carpet and the clear liquid pouring out, uniting with the claret that flowed from Lucius' cut hand. "He raped you," Lucius repeated, stunned, ignoring the blood that dripped onto the rug. "Your father?"

Severus nodded wildly, his hair in his face, his drink sloshing onto his trousers. He sniffed, slapping his hair back, out of his eyes, raising his head to regard Lucius. The man was as gorgeous as always, reclining in his chair wearing what appeared to be a dark red smoking jacket, closed like a kimono at the waist, and creased black trousers. His hair, silver-blonde, spilled down his shoulders. His feet rested in elegant slippers, all making an appealing picture, save for the blood smeared across Lucius' hand and the chunk of glass embedded there, in the soft flesh beneath his thumb.

"God damn it," Lucius cursed, shaking his bloody hand, so that flecks of red spattered across the couch. Catlike, he licked the wound, his eyes on Severus. "I hope you murdered him."

"I couldn't," Severus whispered, his voice low. "He broke my wand."

"Broke your wand? I'll kill him myself, the Muggle bastard," Lucius declared furiously. He snapped the fingers of his uninjured hand, summoning the house elves. They brought him warm towels, with which he dabbed the place where he had been cut. He wrenched the shard of glass from his hand with scarcely a whimper. Dropping the sharp piece of glass to the ground, where the house elves feverishly cleaned the mess, he climbed out of his chair and settled on the couch, near where Severus sat. "No matter, we can purchase you a new wand tomorrow. You're soaked through to the skin, Severus. Here, out of those clothes, I'll fix you up."

Nodding, Severus peeled the damp jumper from his skin and stepped out of his trousers.

"All of it," Lucius commanded, pretending not to watch as the y fronts came down, bunching around Severus' bony ankles.

"He raped me," Severus said, his voice devoid of emotion as he kicked the underclothes aside and sat back down.

"Don't worry," said Lucius, sliding closer, not listening. He wrapped one arm around Severus' trembling shoulders, loving the look of appreciation Severus flashed him. Severus' body was dappled with bruises, but that did nothing to ease Lucius' ardour. He felt himself hardening slightly at the feel of Severus' burning skin beneath his fingers, for there is no such thing as mercy in the world of Malfoys.

Lucius' long fingers felt good entangled in Severus' hair, and Severus allowed himself the luxury of a soft sigh, the panic and terror of the past few weeks leaking out just a little. Unlike Tobias, Lucius had a gentle touch, stroking Severus' aching shoulder softly. Severus had almost drifted off, comforted for the first time in weeks, when he felt the gentle pressure of Lucius' lips grazing his cheek.

"What are you --"

"Hush," Lucius commanded, smiling a little. He ran one hand down Severus' chest, feeling rather than hearing the jackrabbit beat of Severus' heart beneath the skin.

Severus opened his eyes, blushing as he remembered he was naked. He tried to pull away, to snatch up his clothing from the ground, but the gentle sensation of Lucius hand against his skin stilled him. Lucius' skin was warm against his own, his breath billowing welcome heat against Severus' neck. Lucius's hand guided him, forcing him to look into the older man's eyes, and Severus found himself unwilling to fight.

Caressing Severus' chin, Lucius drew him closer, pressing his lips against Severus'. Severus had come to Lucius seeking safety, and safety Lucius would provide, but at a price. He had wanted this for years, ever since he had met the younger boy. There was something about Severus, despite the lack of obvious beauty, that drew Lucius to him. Perhaps it was the aura of brilliance, or the taint of Dark Arts that seemed to have seared into Severus' flesh. Lucius knew too that Severus felt the same way; in some secret part of his mind, Severus craved the connection as much as Lucius did. He was unsurprised to find that Severus opened his mouth willingly, kissing him back.

Severus' exploratory tongue probed Lucius' mouth, seeking the warmth, and somehow he found the strength to raise his hands and embrace Lucius, running his fingers through Lucius' silky hair. Then, all at once, he remembered where he was, what was happening, and he jerked backwards, shocked. "Lucius!"

"Poor boy," Lucius said, one finger tracing the curve of Severus' jaw. He settled for a quick kiss before rising. "Shall I fetch you some clothes?"


	4. Chapter 4

Unable to speak, Severus nodded, wondering, as Lucius rose efficiently, if he had dreamt the brief encounter. Lucius was so business-like, sweeping from the room and emerging moments later, his arms weighted with fine robes, the clothing much more elegant than anything Severus had ever worn.

"Come along, then. You can dress in my bedroom," Lucius offered.

Severus climbed to his feet, leaving his sodden clothes to lie. He followed Lucius down the dark, winding halls of the manor, lit only with sconces, past numerous rooms with closed doors guarding them. He had been in the manor only once before, briefly, and so he gawked open-mouthed at the finery he confronted as Lucius casually padded down the hallway.

"You'll stay with me, of course," Lucius said, a questioning lilt in his voice.

"Yes," agreed Severus at once. He had not anticipated such an offer when he had run, screaming, into the rainy night in search of safety; he had not even dared to hope. The sanctuary of Lucius seemed too good to be true, the summer hours passing with Lucius Malfoy at his side. "Until the start of term."

Lucius nodded, once. "Of course. Well now," he said, opening the door of his bedroom. "Do come in."

Severus stepped across the threshold, gazing at the ornate bedroom in awe. Lucius' bed was larger than any he had ever seen. He reached for the bundle of clothing Lucius set on the bedside table, but Lucius caught his wrist.

"Don't trouble yourself with that now, Severus," he advised, settling onto the bed. He patted the space next to him. "Come, you must be exhausted. Sit down."

"Here?"

"Of course here," Lucius said, smirking. "You could have one of the guest rooms, of course, but I prefer you here, with me. And you prefer it too, don't you? After all you've been through," he added, reaching up to catch Severus' hand and pull him closer. "Your ordeal has no doubt left you feeling vulnerable. Do you really want to sleep alone?"

_Do I_, Severus wondered. He thought of the nightmares that were bound to occur, and shook his head. "No."

"Good." Lucius' smile was bright. "Come here, then."

His gaze fixed on Lucius' expectant face, Severus slowly sank onto the bed, letting Lucius pull back to the covers so that he could slide between the sheets. The bed was incredibly luxurious, the glide of satin cool and sensuous across his nude body. Severus permitted his eyelids to droop closed as he leaned back against the plump pillows, his head cradled in soft down. It was heaven, the feel of soft fabric and the warmth of another body near him.

Severus opened his eyes as he felt Lucius' hand grip his thigh. It _hurt_, the memory of his father's hands, the brutal struggle that had left him raw and torn, and Lucius' touch brought it back.

"Don't," he whimpered.

"Quiet," Lucius said, leaning in and kissing him.

He was Severus' idol, a stream of silver hair, perfect wielding of a wand, and Severus could not say no. He let Lucius in, parting his chapped lips for the surge of Lucius' tongue into his mouth. Butterflies in his stomach, he allowed the unfamiliar weight of Lucius to settle on top of him, but when Lucius' hands slid around underneath, sliding up the backs of his legs to cup his arse, Severus pushed him away. "Please don't," he whispered. "It hurts."

Lucius drew back, cocking his head in disbelief. "You allowed your Muggle father to take your body, but you deny me?"

"I never _allowed_ --"

"Would I ever hurt you, Severus?" Lucius demanded, interrupting.

"Of course not," Severus answered quickly, sucking his lower lip like a petulant child.

Lucius nodded, regarding him coolly. "Do you consider me unworthy?"

Severus shook his head. "No."

"You dislike me?"

"I love you!" Severus blurted out, more force behind the words than he had intended. _Damn_. He had not meant to say that, but the phrase was a proper one, for the daggers disappeared from Lucius' grey eyes, replaced by warmth. And it was true, he did love Lucius, in some dangerous way he completely failed to understand.

"And yet, you turn me away? When we both know you have had other lovers, ones whom you did not feel for as you feel for me. Severus..." Lucius clicked his tongue like a teacher scolding his student. "Professor Slughorn, the master of Potions, and now your father. Others?"

"I fought him!" Severus declared loudly, anguish roughening his voice. "I tried to tell him not to, Lucius, you know I did, but he wouldn't listen to me. He hit me! He held my throat so I couldn't breathe!" Desperate to convey the truth, Severus jerked upright, hands waving, blinking back tears. "He would have _killed_ me. I didn't _let_ him!"

Lucius pressed one finger to Severus' lips, silencing him. He pressed Severus back down to the pillow, his index finger skating over Severus' shaking body. "I know," he said. "He raped you. He took what was not his. Slughorn too. But _I_ never would."

Slowly, his fingers slid across Severus' chest, and Lucius lowered himself over Severus' body, his tongue flicking against Severus' exposed nipples. "I would never do that to you. You have no reason to fear me, Severus." The experimental licks turned into kisses, evoking deeper inhalations from his subject.

"You have to trust me," Lucius whispered, moving lower, his lips hot against Severus' stomach. He found the bruises, some fading green, others stark purple, and kissed them, pressing against them gently with his tongue, to be rewarded with Severus gasps. "I would never harm you." He smiled like a shark, confident. "You love me."

"And do you...?" Severus began, but his voice died within his throat, afraid of the answer.

"Oh yes," Lucius replied with a smirk, and at that, he felt Severus' cock give a minute jerk. Not daring to touch the younger man there yet, for fear it would send Severus shrieking into the night, babbling about attempted rape, Lucius contented himself by pressing down, grinding his pelvis against Severus'. He was overjoyed when Severus responded, and unsurprised to find Severus looking away, a red stain creeping over his cheeks. Lucius cloaked his snicker of amusement in a feigned cough.

"Kiss me," he ordered.

Severus complied in an instant, raising his head from the pillow, arching his back to press himself against Lucius' body. His mind was a jumble of confusion, emotions swirling in a grand collage. He tried to think of something coherent, of potions and magic, but his thoughts swept around independent of his control, showing him splayed across the floor, coupled with the sensation of Lucius' steadying hand on his leg, the crush of Lucius' groin against him. He was out of breath, frenzied with the need to cry, to speak, to fuck the body that spread itself over him.

Lucius slid lower, until his mouth was poised a spare inch from Severus' erect cock. He watched, fascinated, at the way a single exhalation blown over the swollen head could make Severus tremble and clench the sheets by the fistful. Without warning, he engulfed the organ with his mouth and licked the shaft, drawing a staggering moan of startled pleasure from Severus.

Severus attempted to buck, but Lucius slammed his hips back down against the mattress, denying him movement. Delicately, Lucius's tongue swept over the head of his cock, and Severus tried again to thrust forward, into the wet heat of Lucius' willing mouth, but Lucius was the stronger of the two, and held his ground. He treated Severus to quick, irresistible flicks of his tongue, sucking Severus at the same time, until Severus was uttering rhythmic cries, Lucius' name on his lips.

"Lucius," Severus called, each syllable emerging on a separate burst of breath. "Oh, Lucius." His hands sought and found the silk spill of Lucius' hair, and he clutched it, mouth open, desperate to kiss Lucius, desperate for release. No one had ever attempted to pleasure him before; Slughorn had been greedy, concerned only with his own pleasure, and Tobias -- no, he would not think of that.

Lucius drew back at the last possible instant, as Severus' vague words turned into a single loud moan and he came, violently, the orgasm flooding him. Sticky, his semen spilled onto his recently vacated lap. It felt so good that Severus was not even embarrassed, despite the fact that Lucius' voice and his own calls rang in his ears, reminding him of the truth of it.

The taste of himself was curious, resting upon Lucius's lips as they kissed, but Severus did not mind. He clutched Lucius to him, needing the feel of the older man in his arms. His tongue darted, inexperienced, into Lucius' mouth, seeking more, and this time it was Lucius who ended it.

"You're exhausted," Lucius declared, waving his wand to perform the perfunctory cleansing charm. He kicked off his trousers, tossing them to the floor, and untied the smoking jacket, shedding it from his shoulders. Beneath the clothes, he sported a beautiful body, the light, wintry bronze of his skin attractive, his physique toned, if not built. "Sleep," he commanded.

Severus did as he was told, rolling over onto his side, pleasure still racing through his veins. The lights dimmed, and he felt a reassuring arm flung over him as Lucius held him, his hand possessive on Severus' chest.


End file.
